


The Unexpected

by seraphina_snape



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Angst, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Other, Senses, Werewolf Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/pseuds/seraphina_snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Underneath that gruff exterior, all Derek really wants is a family. And Stiles Stilinski, of all people, smells like family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> The title and summary were written by a member of the community for a challenge at [beacon_hills](http://beacon-hills.livejournal.com/). This fic was also written for a challenge @ beacon_hills.

"Okay, hang on." Stiles fiddled with his smart phone and then looked up at Derek. "Can you still hear it?" 

Derek took a breath, held it for five seconds, and breathed out. 

"Well?" Stiles stared at him expectantly.

"Yes," Derek bit out. 

"Awesome." Stiles tried to make a note in his notebook at the same time as lowering the volume. He nearly dropped both his pen and his phone, but managed to save the pen. Much to Derek's annoyance, the phone landed on Stiles' jacket which lay bunched up at Stiles' feet. Derek wasn't surprised that Stiles was of the 'drop it where I stand' school when it came to jackets. He seemed like the type to scatter things all over the house and then rush through every room in a panic the next morning, looking for his keys or his shoes or his books because he couldn't remember where he'd left them. 

"Derek?"

"Yes, I can still hear the incredibly bad rendition of you and Scott singing Jingle Bells," he said with a growl. Derek turned towards the window and stared at his neighbor's tiny back garden. His last place had had a much better view. "This is a waste of time," he muttered.

"It's not!" Stiles argued. 

If he squinted, Derek could see Stiles' reflection in the window, a vague shadow-like figure that moved like Stiles, hands fluttering and shifting impatiently. 

"You know that having a baseline of your abilities is going to be helpful in the long run," Stiles continued. "How many times have you been shot, poisoned or stabbed? We can better assess damage and possible recovery times and it helps to know what each of you can do in case we need it. It doesn't make much sense to sent Isaac scouting when you or Aiden have better hearing. But we won't know who the best choice is if we don't run these tests beforehand." 

Derek snorted. "Recovery times? If it's nothing, it heals within a few seconds. Any anything that hasn't healed within a few hours is serious. It doesn't take a genius to figure out." 

"I can't hear you denying my last point though," Stiles said, leaning back in his seat. "Well? Jingle bells?" 

Derek half-turned his head, listening for the 2010 McCall-Stilinski Christmas party karaoke version of the song but hearing only blessed silence. "Can't hear it."

Derek only saw Stiles nodding because he was still watching his reflection in the window. Stiles tugged his notebook closer and flipped a page. 

"Okay, last section: scent." 

Derek pressed his lips together and pretended he hadn't noticed the way Stiles straightened up and shot him a wary glance when his muscles tensed. 

"As you know scent is very important. Certain smells can be far more evocative of emotions or memories than any other sensory input. I'm interested mostly because there seems to be a very large difference between bitten and born werewolves where scent is concerned," Stiles said. "Let's talk about that." 

_Let's not_ , Derek thought. He fought the urge to shift his weight from one foot to the other, but the feeling of Stiles at his back - while usually not something that would alarm him - was making him uncomfortable. Derek compromised by turning around. He leaned back against the window sill and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Scott's vision is about as good as yours and Isaac's is even better," Stiles said, flipping more pages in his notebook. "Isaac can't hear as well as you, but Scott beat you by like one point. But scent? That's an interesting one." 

Stiles scooted forward on the wide sofa until he could put his feet down on the floor and rest his elbows on his knees. "Scott and Isaac tell me that I stink. Like, a lot of the time. Instead of 'hi, Stiles!' I get an 'oh my god, you reek!' in greeting. And I mean, sure. If I stick my nose in my armpit at the end of the day or after lacrosse practice, it's not gonna smell like roses. But none of the born wolves I've met ever commented on it. Why?" 

"What do you mean, why?" 

"I mean, is it really that much of a change? Scott and Isaac don't complain that the shower is too loud or that neon green is hurting their eyes. Why the smell?" 

Derek shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I've never had a human's sense of smell." 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I know that. But... how do you experience smells? Do you automatically filter them or what?"

Derek rolled his eyes right back at Stiles. "I don't know. How do you experience smells?" 

"I'm human. You can't compare the two."

"Can't I?"

Stiles opened his mouth, looking like he was gearing up for a major argument, so Derek cut him off before he could start. "I'm serious, Stiles. Your sense of smell might not be as good as mine, but you do smell things. When you come into a room and you can smell yesterday's dinner and two guys' cologne and a woman's perfume and hairspray and coffee - you can smell those things, too. Do you have the burning need to mention them all as soon as you come into the room?" 

Stiles, his mouth still open, slowly leaned back until he was slumped down flat on the sofa with only his head propped up against the back. "You actually have a point." 

"Don't sound so surprised." 

Stiles waved him off. "Okay, so we'll shelf that question for now and move on to the testing part." He smirked at Derek. It lost some of its effect due to Stiles' slouching position. "Smell me."

Derek, whose shoulders had relaxed slightly during the conversation about scent, tensed up again. "No." 

"Oh, come on!"

"No."

"I've got something in my pocket that doesn't belong there. You should be able to sniff it out. Isaac and Scott both did." 

"No."

"Seriously, Derek, come on." Stiles waggled his eyebrows. "Smell me. You know you want to."

Derek's lip curled up in a snarl and he turned back to the window. The sun was starting to set, making the neighbor's garden shine deep green and golden. 

"Okay, be like that," Stiles said from behind him. "I'm just gonna sit here and read. Feel free to smell me at your convenience." Stiles pulled out a book. "Just so you know: my curfew is eleven. I'll be hanging around here until ten to eleven. That should give you about five hours to smell me." There was a slight pause. "And if you leave, I'll just come back tomorrow. Which is a Saturday. I don't have a weekend job, so I'd be here from ten to ten or something. Fair warning. Although if you--"

Derek started a low, rumbling growl that cut Stiles off. Stiles threw a pen cap at Derek's back and Derek glared at Stiles over his shoulder.

"Okay, fine," Stiles said. "I'll shut up. But I'm not leaving." 

It wasn't ideal, but it was better than having Stiles asking him to smell him again and again. There was nothing Derek could do to _not_ smell Stiles. Scott and Isaac weren't wrong when they complained about the stench. But it wasn't Stiles, specifically. Teenage boys in general weren't the easiest on the nose. But obviously Scott and Isaac couldn't go around school, telling all their classmates that they stunk. So Stiles ended up the one being told he stank even though he wasn't worse than other teenagers. 

Stiles smelled like sweat and spunk, like most teenage boys. Fabric softener and cheap cologne, also like most teenage boys. Soap and food and medication and books. He smelled like the type of shampoo he used (some herbal concoction; not a sweet scent, but not as harsh as some of the more masculine products) and faintly of his father's cologne. He smelled like heat and ink and magic. 

Derek swallowed. He didn't want to think about the way Stiles Stilinski smelled. That led to thoughts of his dead family and thoughts of his living family (what little there was). His dead family was forever out of his reach. They weren't coming back. They were lost to him and that, more than anything else, was what made it hard to get up in the mornings some days. Every day Derek's first thought was for those he'd lost, and every day he got a stab through the heart at the thought of being without a family for the rest of his life. 

His living family was no less out of Derek's reach though. Peter was a complication. Derek didn't - couldn't - trust him, but he had to hope that underneath the monster Peter had become, the uncle he'd known still survived. His relationship with Cora was no less complicated. They had the same blood, but despite the shared pain and the time they'd spent together, their pack bond was weak. 

Thinking about Stiles' smell also brought up thoughts of Stiles himself. Thoughts that Derek definitely did not want to be thinking. Thoughts like how fierce he looked when he was defending someone. Thoughts like how formidable an opponent he was. Thoughts like how the pack bond between them far eclipsed the bond Stiles had with Scott, glowing and humming when they were close, even when it should have been little more than a withering, shriveled string. 

Derek stared out of the window with unseeing eyes and took a deep breath. Stiles smelled like his mother's peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. Like Laura's hand lotion and his dad's book collection. Stiles smelled like family. 

The biting pain in his upper arms made Derek blink and look down. His arms were still crossed. Where his fingers had been resting, his claws were now digging into his flesh. Derek stared at his hands until his claws retreated and the wounds healed. His shirt was ripped in several pieces and it was stained with blood - as were his fingertips - but he was relatively calm again. Calm enough to sniff out Stiles' hidden scent and then kick him out. 

Derek took another breath and filtered through the smells. Stiles had seen Lydia and spent enough time with her to carry traces of her scent. Derek ignored those and all the usual Stiles smells and what was left was... kibble?

"STILES!"


End file.
